Tuesday, November 26, 2013

The following reviews appeared in the Waterloo Record and the
Guelph Mercury.

Highly recommended this month: Pusha T, the Strumbellas

Recommended: M.I.A., Deep Dark Woods, Red Hot + Fela, Omar
Souleyman

Cowboy Junkies and Various Artists - The Kennedy Suite (Latent)

Michael Timmins of the Cowboy Junkies took the 50th
anniversary of John Kennedy’s assassination as reason to complete a
long-gestating project he’d been producing, featuring original songs by an
unknown Ontario schoolteacher, Scott Garbe, obsessed with the ripples the event
sent through North American culture.

Timmins had no trouble collecting an impressive circle of friends
to give voices to the various characters in the song cycle. That includes
generations of incredible Ontario artists, from veterans of the ’70s Toronto
punk scene (who now perform as The Screwed) to country icons the Good Family to
the Skydiggers to the Rheostatics to Hawkley Workman to Sarah Harmer to Jason
Collett to Doug Paisley to newcomers like Jessy Bell Smith and Harlan Pepper.
The backing band on most tracks is the Cowboy Junkies, minus singer Margo
Timmins (who of course sings one track).

So how did it all go horribly wrong? The songs obviously
captivated the Skydiggers’ Andy Maize, who gave a tape of Garbe’s demos to
Timmins over a decade ago, and unless there was some serious extortion going
on, clearly all the artists involved signed on willingly. When so few of them
are able to breathe any life into the material, despite the calibre of talent
involved, the problem has to be at the source.

Which is a shame, because there are a few gems, including the
previously released “The Truth About Us” (found on the Skydiggers’ 1997 album
Desmond’s Hip City) and “Parkland” (found on Lee Harvey Osmond’s 2009 album A
Quiet Evil). It’s a joy to hear the Rheostatics’ Martin Tielli and Dave Clark
reunite and play off each other on “Slipstream.” Outside of that, only Sarah
Harmer and Reid Jamieson manage to make a song sound better than it is.

The Kennedy Suite could have been a fascinating project; indeed,
the elaborate CD packaging alone shows how much care went into the project.
Let’s hope the same cast finds something else to rally around. (Nov. 21)

With the notable exception of the Sadies and Lee Harvey Osmond,
most Canadian roots music is too safe and squeaky clean. Thank God for the
weirdoes, like Saskatoon’s Deep Dark Woods, who specialize in organ-drenched,
spooky and psychedelic minor-key country songs—the kind Neil Young and Greg
Keelor are so good at yet rarely indulge in anymore. This, the band’s sixth
album, was recorded in a Rocky Mountain cabin in Alberta. It’s helmed by L.A.
producer Jonathan Wilson (Father John Misty, Bonnie Prince Billy, Roy Harper),
who recorded the powerful live band direct to tape—though the group’s superstar
keyboardist Geoff Hilhorst surely layered his organs, pianos and oddball synths
with a few different takes.

Much of the album is morose and set to the same lurching tempo,
but that all works in Deep Dark Woods’s favour. This is not a band of
showboating singers or instrumentalists. Every member digs deep into the
grooves, adding layers of haunting textures and backing vocals to support lead
singer Ryan Boldt’s fragile lead.

I’d heard some of this band’s previous records, which never left
much of an impression. Jubilee, on the other hand, is immediately striking and
sounds like an instant late-night classic. This band’s years of hard work are
finally paying off; you can hear it in every note. (Nov. 28)

Download: “Miles and Miles,” “18th of December,” “East St. Louis”

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire – Original Soundtrack
(Universal)

We’re not in District 12 anymore, Toto. The soundtrack to the
first Hunger Games film was a largely acoustic affair, reflecting the rural
roots of protagonist Katniss Everdeen; the sequel is considerably slicker.
T-Bone Burnett is not involved. Neither, for that matter, is Arcade Fire, who
nailed the first film’s tone of fascist dread with their two contributions.

Instead, we get a lot of already mopey rockers and R&B stars
shoehorning themselves into a Panem state of mind. Few survive. Coldplay
display a remarkable sense of subtlety, which in this case means they’re
indistinguishable from The National, who also appear; neither band phones it
in, though both sound like they’re doing a better than average U2 ballad.
Likewise, the Lumineers and Ellie Goulding fare better than expected.

But the meeting of hitmaker Sia with Toronto’s The Weeknd and
superstar Diplo is shockingly flat; The Weeknd’s own track is even worse.
Likewise, Santigold forsakes her usual firecracker personality and wades
through the too-obviously-titled “Shooting Arrows at the Sky.” The album never
gets worse, however, than Christina Aguilera singing, “Burn me with fire /
drown me in rain”—a lyric the 16-year-old protagonist of the film would never
dare write herself.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the only real standout here is
17-year-old Lorde, who covers Tears For Fears’ ’80s staple “Everybody Wants to
Rule the World,” reducing it to a death-row dirge and creating something more
ominous than ever suggested in the original. It’s note perfect—and, at 2.5
minutes long, never wears out its novelty.

Who wins this round of Hunger Games? The actual teenager, of
course.
(Nov. 28)

“Pop culture was an art / now art’s in pop culture, in me.” It’s
a line from Lady Gaga’s new single, “Applause,” but it could just as well apply
to M.I.A. Both ladies revel in visuals, incongruous imagery, provocation and
performance art: what they do in the public sphere is as important as their
music. But without the music, the rest is empty.

Gaga has sold millions of records; M.I.A. has inspired millions
of words from critics trying to make sense of her truly cross-cultural mashups
and the political significance—if any—of her wordplay. Until now, Gaga had plenty
of ace pop songs to back up the avalanche of media-baiting stunts she delighted
in. Meanwhile, M.I.A. was all style and little substance; her visual aesthetic
and personality far outshone her lyrics and beats.

That’s all changed.

Gaga has always excelled in maximalist pop anthems, but at least
she had the melodies to back it up. Here, she sounds cloying and bored. Even
for a performer who always embraced the glitz and absurdity of celebrity
culture, tracks like “Jewels and Drugs,” “Swine” and “Fashion” are beyond
vacant—Paris Hilton could do better. Meanwhile, her production team steamrolls
over everything, making the Black-Eyed Peas sound like sultans of subtlety. The
nods to post-Skrillex EDM take her out of respectable discos into low-rent meth
parties with tweakers’ anthems (“Jewels and Drugs”). This record sounds too
loud even at the lowest volume; it’s compressed to the point where it sounds no
better from the worst computer speaker than it does from the best headphones.

“Do you want to see me naked, lover?” she asks, “Do you want to
see the girl who lives behind the aura?” Well: tough. Ain’t gonna happen. The
most personal Gaga gets is an attempt at a stirring piano ballad, with the
unfortunate chorus: “I need you more than dope.” Other than that, she stoops as
low as rhyming the planet Uranus with, “Don’t you know my ass is famous?” One
can’t help but respond: yes, but for how long?

Meanwhile, reading about M.I.A. was always more fascinating than
actually listening to her records. It’s not that she’s matured or mellowed: far
from it. She still spits po-mo flow over unconventional beats, and she’s still
more likely to turn to Angolan dance music than any trend in American hip-hop,
throwing in pan-Asian elements, Caribbean rhythms and Britpop along the way.

Her beats take samples of traditional drumming—from which
tradition exactly it’s hard to tell—and sets them to pitched-up synths and
clipped vocals, while tempos accelerate and drag and generally lurch in ways
unheard of in dance culture. “Come Walk With Me” starts out as a power ballad
for the rave generation, before the video-game-Arabic-dancehall-whatever beats
kick in and turn the pop melody into a frenetic ADD anthem.

It works. As does everything else here, the first time M.I.A.’s
world of sound coalesces into a truly great album that matches her outsized
personality.
(Nov. 14)

Download Lady Gaga: “Aura,” “Manicure,” “Gypsy”

Download M.I.A.: “Matangi,” “Come Walk With Me,” “Bring the
Noize”

Machinedrum - Vapor City (Ninja Tune)

It’s 2013: does anyone listen to ’90s drum’n’bass anymore, never
mind make it? Roni Size and Goldie were spotted on (some kind of) comeback
trail this summer, so who knows. Yet here is Machinedrum, aka Trevor Stewart, a
Brooklynite now living in Berlin who got his big break when hot new hip-hop MC Azealia Banks rapped
over a couple of his tracks. On his debut album for venerable beat purveyors
Ninja Tune, Vapor City could have rivalled Plug’s Drum N Bass For Papa for the
best electronic album of 1997. Coming out in 2013, however, Stewart
incorporates elements of the noir-ish corners of dubstep, ala James Blake, and
latter-day Ninja Tune heavyweights like Bonobo. There’s no mistaking the retro
vibe, and it’s a reminder that not all of the ’90s was terrible. (Nov. 14)

Download: “Gunshotta,” “Don’t 1 2 Lose U,” “U Still Lie”

Sam Phillips – Push Any Button (Littlebox)

Though Phillips has a stellar reputation among those lucky
enough to know her music, she’s paid many of her bills in the last decade doing
incidental music for two TV series by Amy Sherman-Palladino: Gilmore Girls and
the recently cancelled Bunheads. Because I loved both those shows, I felt
inundated with Phillips and that that therefore gave me an excuse to ignore her
more recent records. Foolish, foolish.

Composing 20-second snippets appears to have honed Phillips’s
talent for concision even more: The 10 songs on this, her second self-released
record, clock in at under half an hour. Phillips knows how to encapsulate joy,
loneliness, disappointment and determination in tiny, perfect songs rich with
melody and driven by a rockabilly backbeat with modern production. Phillips is
now free of a record contract, free of a TV show, and free to make lovely
little records like this whenever she feels like it. Our gain. (Nov. 28)

Download: “When I’m Alone,” “Pretty Time Bomb,” “You Know I
Won’t”

Pusha T - My Name is My
Name (Universal)

You spent the last month
reading about Rob Ford. You might not be in the mood to immerse yourself in an
album about the cocaine trade that includes tracks called “No Regrets” and “Nosetalgia.”
Or conversely, that might just put you in exactly the right mood to try and
make sense of the seamier side of urban life.

Pusha T has pulled this
off before, as one half of The Clipse, whose 2006 album Hell Hath No Fury spun
harrowing narratives atop incredible beats courtesy of Pharrell Williams’s
Neptunes. Now he has a second lease on life courtesy of Kanye West, who brought
Pusha T into his G.O.O.D. Music imprint, and provided production on more than
half the album. Williams, The-Dream and Swizz Beatz are also on board, as are
vocalists Kelly Rowland, Rick Ross, Kendrick Lamar, Future and 2 Chainz.
Despite the wealth of talent, My Name is remarkably sparse and lean—the polar
opposite of West’s bloated output of late. Pusha T proves to be a better
vehicle for Kanye’s beats than West himself.

The big-name backup
certainly helps, but Pusha T is the rare MC who can deliver street stories,
smarts and charisma in equal doses. You don’t like the guy, but you can’t help
but hang on every inflection in his voice: “36 years of doing dirt like it’s
Earth Day?” he posits, before exhaling with either self-loathing or mockery of
your own disdain: “Gawwwwwwwd.”

One can engage the endless debate about whether
or not Pusha T is glorifying the drug game—or if he’s doing so any more than
countless crime shows. Pusha T tackles the subject with menace, neither
celebratory nor cautionary and far removed from the undisputed crossover king,
Jay-Z. Unlike Jay, Pusha T still sounds hungry, unsatisfied, and restless—and
far superior to any other MC who put out an album in 2013. (Nov. 7)

Download: “Numbers on the
Boards,” “Let Me Love You,” “Pain”

Red, Hot + Fela – Various
Artists (Knitting Factory)

There’s never a shortage
of hastily assembled, wishy-washy compilation albums for charitable causes. The
Red Hot series, raising money and awareness for HIV/AIDS, has always been the
exception to the rule. After releasing at least an album a year for 12 years,
the series took a seven-year hiatus after 2002’s incredible tribute to Afrobeat
superstar Fela Kuti—perhaps because it was hard to beat. Now a new Red Hot
record only surfaces every couple of years, and this Fela-centred follow-up is
more than worth the wait.

Only a few African artists
participated last time. This time, it’s the Western artists who are in the
minority, leaving room for Spoek Mathambo, Canadian expat Zaki Ibrahim, and,
well, a lot of artists of whom you and I have never heard. Most of the major
starpower, if you will, is consolidated on one track: ?uestlove, TuneYards and
Angelique Kido, on an absolutely sizzling version of “Lady.” And My Morning
Jacket, joined by TuneYards’ Merrill Garbus and Alabama Shakes’ Brittany
Howard, get the longest track, with 11 minutes of “Trouble Sleep Yanga Wake Am.”

The largely unknown cast
that fleshes out the lineup draws from Africans living in Germany, Belgium and
the U.S., as well as discoveries like the Kenyan group Just a Band and Sierra
Leonean hip-hop crew Bajah.

They all excel at the
near-impossible task of interpreting Fela, the man who invented Afrobeat, which
seems as daunting as covering James Brown. Granted, many versions are far
removed from the originals, but the spirit is intact, and what is a tribute
project except an excuse to reinvent? (Nov. 7)

When Hosni Mubarak was
deposed as president of Egypt during the Arab Spring, his immediate successor
was Omar Souleyman—not, sadly, the Syrian musician of the same name. One can
dream.

Souleyman makes dabke, the
kind of pulsing Arabic electro-folk that one imagines blasting from street
carts on a dusty market alleyway—which is where the American who first brought
his recordings to the West first heard them. Either a dumbek or an electronic
facsimile rattles away insistently, creating an ecstatic trance that Bjork
(whom Souleyman has remixed) calls “Syrian techno.” Synths set to approximate
reedy wind instruments play furious, frenetic melodies that would send Ashley
MacIssac spinning, while Souleyman plays the energetic frontman with the
command and charisma of a Jamaican dancehall singer.

Before the civil war, this
was Syrian wedding music. Now Souleyman lives in exile in Turkey, admitting
that he has trouble making joyous music while his country is falling apart.

He made this, his first
official Western release, with Kieran Hebden of FourTet, whose dreamy,
psychedelic strains of electronica Hebden keeps to himself; he knows better
than to mess with Souleyman’s working formula. The only significant change is
perhaps more definition of the bass tones, creating greater contrasts with the
tinny synths. Souleyman’s vocals also benefit from better microphones;
everything no longer sounds overdriven, which may lose some of the appeal for
his early adopters, but the improvements are incredibly subtle, and absolutely
nothing has been watered down or Westernized. Hebden merely loaned Souleyman’s
keyboardist some new synths.

Souleyman may be a man
without a country, but the whole world is about to embrace him. (Nov. 7)

Download: “Ya Yumma,” “Nahy,”
“Mawal Jamar”

The Strumbellas - We Still Move on Dance Floors (Six Shooter)

The zeitgeist could not be better for the Strumbellas—who, on
the surface, are another group of beirdos with acoustic instruments that sound
like Elliott Brood mixed with Funeral-era Arcade Fire, tailor-made for the
millions of fans that have transformed Mumford and Sons, Edward Sharpe and the
Magnetic Zeros, and the Lumineers into platinum acts in the past two years. Indeed,
We Still Move on Dance Floors was produced by Ryan Hadlock, the architect of
the Lumineers’ massive breakthrough.

Name-dropping might provide context, but the Strumbellas, who
hail from Lindsay, Ont., would be a fantastic band regardless of current trends.
Singer Simon Ward writes soaring melodies for both campfires and stadiums; his
backing band, including violinist Isabel Ritchie, sound like they road-tested
this material for a full year before capturing the energy in the studio. Unlike
their folkier contemporaries, the Strumbellas are at heart an electric rock
band, having more in common with modern classic rockers like Yukon Blonde or
Zeus, and the songs would be as powerful no matter what the instrumentation.

Right now the Strumbellas are the kind of band with a weekly
residency at Toronto’s tiny Cameron House, with their tour schedule including Irish
pubs in Sarnia. Based on this sure-to-be breakthrough album, that’s all about
to change very quickly. (Nov. 21)

Download: “Sailing,” “Did I Die?,” “End of an Era”

12 Years a Slave – Various Artists (Sony)

You’ve spent over two hours in a darkened theatre enduring the
gripping, powerful and emotionally draining cinematic experience of being
trapped in one man’s hell as a slave.

Now: relive the magic with this companion soundtrack album!

(Did Schindler’s List come with an album “inspired by” the film
featuring contemporary pop stars?)

John Legend was put in charge of this project, and he’s done a
largely tasteful job, maintaining the sombre tone of the film while curating
something that, unlike the film, you can handle experiencing more than once.
The heavy-handed score by Hans Zimmer is thankfully relegated to a bare
minimum, and the solo fiddle tunes are impossible to hear without picturing the
tortured expression of Chiwetel Ejiofor being forced to play for his masters.
Legend himself shines on two tracks: one an a cappella, one accompanied by just
guitar—both rare settings for the normally slick R&B singer. Bluesman Gary
Clark Jr., Alabama Shakes and African-American opera singer David Hughey
provide solid era-appropriate material, while Alicia Keys panders with a limp
modern track, and Chris Cornell—wait a minute, what the hell is Chris Cornell
doing here?

The film is a stunning, unforgettable work of art; the fact that
the largely unrelated “soundtrack,” which on the surface seems like a quick
cash-in, manages to make an impact of its own is a minor triumph. (Nov. 21)

Monday, November 25, 2013

Mali is a West African country that seems to export more music than most of that continent, which is why it was all the more shocking when it was threatened earlier this year by an extremist Islam takeover of the country's north, which coincided with a coup d'etat in the capital of Bamako. Among other atrocities, the fundamentalist Islamists wanted to ban music. A French military intervention helped stabilize the situation somewhat, a move that was supported by even some of the most peacenik musicians I know, who had travelled to Mali years earlier.

That context informs part of my enjoyment of the new Rokia Traoré album: after all, what better to inflame the ignorant than a female singer and killer instrumentalist who lives a cosmopolitan life that thrives on cultural exchange between Europe and Mali? But more importantly, Beautiful Africa, her fifth release, is simply gorgeous: not just Traoré's stunning vocals, but her entire band's performance and the production of PJ Harvey's right-hand man, John Parish.

I had a chance to talk to her earlier this month, in advance of her show this Wednesday, Nov. 27, at Koerner Hall in Toronto, for this article in The Grid. We chatted during a week when I was glued to 24-hour news stations detailing the misadventures of my arrogant, hubristic and downright dangerous and ignorant mayor. Speaking to a woman with such a beautiful, lilting and comforting voice about the horrors and the beauty of her own country, and about the virtues of pleasure, courage, humility and beauty—all running themes throughout Beautiful Africa—during a ridiculous news cycle in my hometown was a glorious respite, to say the least.

Rokia
Traoré

November 5,
2013

On the
phone from Brussels

In almost
every song you talk about pleasure, courage, humility and beauty. Those four
words are in almost every song on the record.

All of
these words are connected. I haven’t realized, but now when I listen to you, I
think you’re right. Yes, it’s about life, and how to take advantage of good
things in this life: you must be honest and at peace with yourself. Being
courageous is important, to have a clear idea of who you want to be. You have
to be courageous enough to realize your own bad sides and realize you’re not
perfect. Then you can experience love and beauty. All these words are
connected.

Is it
possible to courageous and humble at the same time?

You must be courageous to experience humility, to accept your limit in this
life. It’s very difficult. For some people all these things are sad: to realize
you are nothing and are here for a limited time. You are limited yourself in
what you can do and who you can be. Accepting all that mean you know what
humility is. To be humble, you have to be courageous.

Then you
can experience “all pleasure without measure,” is that correct?

Totally. You
cannot make ego disappear. Knowing it’s there, you can accept it and say, ‘I
know you’re there but I’m not going to follow you.’ You feel at peace with
yourself once you can deal with your ego. There are so many things we feel bad
about in this life because of our ego. If we can deal with our ego all these
things will not be a problem.

When have
you had to deal with your ego?

I keep it
with me. We are like friends. I can say, ‘I know you’re there and trying to
take control, but I don’t want that.’ I can feel it. I can’t say I don’t like
it, because you need it sometimes. But I play with it and have fun with it but
I don’t let it take control.

You kind of
need it when you’re on stage with Paul McCartney and John Paul Jones, don’t
you?

(laughs)
That is just pleasure, sharing the stage with musicians I’ve listened to for
years, and I imagined I would meet them one day. They are great people. You
want to talk about humility? These are two people who are very good examples,
very peaceful people. I was pleased to share some moments with them, to work
with them and discuss with them and have them among my friends.

I didn’t
know about that Africa Express tour until I was getting ready to talk to you.
It sounds like quite an adventure.

It was a
great opportunity to meet some people and share some time with them. The two
other Africa Express projects have been just during the weekend, and you’re in
the same hotel. It’s not the same as being on a train for a whole week. Of
course we were not sleeping on the train; we had hotels. But yes, it’s an
organization, every morning everybody having breakfast at the same time, and we
were generally the only customers of the hotel we’re staying in. In some train
stations while waiting we’d play some music. It was a great experience to share
with some musicians you don’t have opportunities to meet.

Was it only
in Britain?

It was in U.K., all around. It was a city per day for seven days.

Do you know
many of the musicians from Mali that we all know in the West?

Of course. I know them and there is a respect between us. It’s not like I see
everyone every day in Bamako. We have different sides of life in different
areas. Everytime I see Amadou and Mariam we say, ‘Oh yes, when are you going to
be back in Bamako?’ And we make plans to see each other there, but of course we
never do—for 10 years now! I don’t see these people except when we’re
performing at the same festival.

When did
you spend the most time in Bamako?

I still
live there now. I grew up going back and forth, because a diplomat [her father]
cannot be in one place for more than three or five years, I can’t remember the
rules in Mali, so every year we’d come back for 100 days. Since I started
working I’m back and forth there all the time; I go to Bamako to rehearse. I
always had a band of half Malians, half Europeans. Five years ago I moved back
there: I have a place there, I have a foundation there, I work with amazing
young musicians. Bamako is my base, and I have a secondary house in Brussels,
which is my European base.

Did you
leave the country after the troubles last year to keep your family safe?

Not really. I couldn’t leave because of all the projects I have there that
depend terribly on me. The foundation is still at a young stage, we are
building studios. Also my house is there. But I had to send my son to school in
France to stay with his dad. So I’ve been travelling between Bamako and Europe
for work but also to spend time with my son, who’s been there for a year now. I
couldn’t imagine leaving him in Bamako when I would leave for work. If I was
there with him all the time, I wouldn’t feel any fear, but you cannot leave a
country at war with a seven-year-old child behind you. I didn’t want that. So
I’m more back and forth than I was two years ago, but home is still Bamako.

You’ve said
that without music, Mali would not exist. Could a regime that bans music, as
the Islamists would do, ever have a chance of successfully controlling that
population?

Culture
will continue. In Mali we are in the middle of a very special period. Yes,
things are fragile. As fast as the destruction started, the stability started
the same way, surprising everybody. People saw that it was impossible to
organize elections; I always said we need elections, because there was no
choice, it was either elections or a situation that would get worse and worse.
With elections, we could at least expect the beginning of a reorganization and
reconstruction. Elections went really well, maybe one of the best in Africa in
recent years. In terms of candidates trying to do things in a bad way, to win
even though they weren’t winning, no one tried things like that. Malians really
participated. It was probably the highest percentage of people voting since the
democracy started, and we chose a president whose work is very difficult.

Now things
are fragile because the North—when a situation is melded to religion and
extremism it’s always complicated and things cannot be stable in a couple of months.
We also have had this situation since the ’60s in the north of Mali with the
Tuareg rebellion. All these are problems we have to solve. At the same time,
the way leaders used to manage the country will no longer work. When Tuaregs
say that Malian governments don’t take care of them, it’s important to know for
people who don’t know this country that governments in general don’t take care
of countrysides—not just in the north of Mali, but everywhere. Of course the
situation with Tuaregs is historically complicated, and the real reason is not
the government taking care of people. And you can’t even say all Tuaregs,
because not all of them were supporting this rebellion.

Weren’t
they betrayed by the extremists? The Tuareg supported them initially until they realized
how bad it was going to be.

Yes,
absolutely. So some Tuaregs are part of it, but even in the same tribe not
everyone is supporting it. But we are self-confident and trust in the
possibility of continuing to push Mali toward a better situation.

What role
do musicians play in maintaining stability?

Doing our
best and trying to use music the best way it’s supposed to be used, and has
been used for centuries in Mali, when it was part of kingdoms and empires in
West Africa. Music was a means of communication and education, and a means to
make the connection between different tribes and ethnic groups. We’re in a
situation where music has an important role. It depends on the ability of
artists to make this work, not as in the past, because we are not in the past,
but using new structures and ways of doing things and means of communication to
do what we used to do with music in West Africa and Mali. It makes our role
more interesting but also more complicated.

In this
case, the threat to Mali is posed by people who don’t think there should be
music at all, outside of prayer music. Does that make it more clear cut?

When we
were under occupation—when the North was under occupation—there were worse
things going on: people killed, women and children treated in a very bad way.
It’s shocking for someone doesn’t live in Mali and knows the country for its
music, but for me, a Malian, I have relatives and friends who were directly in
the situation in the North. You are so preoccupied by the human situation, so
yes, when this thing with music happened, it was like a joke. As a Malian, you
think we will never stop music, because for us, music is not what they are
describing. You understand how differently people can think, and how the
difference and diversity can be a source of destruction, when it must be a way
to bond us together. In diversity, we have something to learn from each other,
from everyone. Nobody is superior: I know things you don’t know and vice versa.

When you
are from there, and when you are crazy and destroyed inside your mind because
you didn’t expect that to happen, and then you reach another step and you are
really fearing very bad things that are already happening all around you, and
then you reach another step: you have no fear at all. You are able to really
analyze what’s really going on.

It’s a
contribution to the development of the music economy in Mali. As a musician, I
can bring something that the Malian government and the ministry of culture
cannot bring, because they are not on the road as I am. They haven’t had the
chance to experience these stages and they don’t know what being an artist is.
So I can bring my experience to complement what they are doing. Also, all
Malian musicians try to contribute to the development of the country. I work
with young artists and we’re building a stage where I hope we can provide young
musicians with professional conditions to perform, and encourage the show
business side of Bamako. It’s not about how to make money. And I think this work
is even more important now than before the troubles.

You were
mentored by Ali Farka Toure, were you not? Did you teach you similar lessons to
what your foundation is doing now?

Ali was a
dear friend of mine. We had a special relationship when we learned that Ali was
a neighbor of my mother’s. His wife used to take care of me when I was a baby.
What Ali did for me was preparing me for my first recording. While we were in
the studio, my mother, who was in Brussels because my father was still working
there, came to visit me. I was surprised to see her and Ali giving each other a
big hug. I said, ‘What, you know each other?’ My mother said, ‘Yes, of course,
he knows you since you were a baby.’ Ali said, ‘My God, is this the baby Rokia
I used to take care of and have in my house all day long?’ He was a mentor,
just telling me what a tour is, what a career is, and how relaxed I should be
about my career, and not to always have more and more ambition, because that
can destroy your ability to appreciate your professional career as a musician.
He was definitely a friend, with whom I could speak about my fears concerning
my profession. Even though my career started after that first album, I couldn’t
always talk to Ali because I was always on the road. He was too. He was such an
exceptional person—I don’t know, you can’t have so many friends like that in a
lifetime.

Tell me
about working with Toni Morrison on the Desdemona project. What did you learn?

So many things. I’m so lucky, I’ve been working as a professional and going to
university at the same time—and working with Toni Morrison was that. It was a
great way to learn while you’re working.

Did you
know each other’s work?

Yes, Toni knew. [The British theatre director] Peter Sellars I met first, and
he was a friend of Toni’s; he gave her my album and she knew everything on it,
and that’s why she wanted to work with me. We met a year and a half before and
she told me about the project. When she told me she must give me her email
address, I thought, ‘Wow!’ Desdemona was a great experience, and I learned so
much professionally about the stage, and it was my first time in theatre.

I love what
John Parish brings to this record. What’s your favourite PJ Harvey record?

Actually, I
listened to his other projects, including his own albums. Professionally, I
simply respect John’s work on all projects he produces. I hear one thing: the
ability to use the essential, not more, not less. That doesn’t mean having a
clean sound, but just what you need according to who the artist is. I could
hear through his work with other artists his ability to be sensitive to bring
the artist what he needs, to make the project the best possible, not trying to
exist through the artist’s work.

Tell me
about the song “Beautiful Africa.”

It’s the
only song directly connected to the situation in Mali. I have no word to
describe the spirit in which I was when that happened. First you are so scared
that you feel like you are no longer existing. You don’t know what to do. The
day before I couldn’t imagine a coup d’etat in Mali. After the coup d’etat, for
two weeks, things were getting worse and unbelievable things were happening. I
couldn’t imagine half of Mali being occupied by extremist Islamists. You fear
when you have an idea of the danger. You see all your dreams about your country
and your environment getting destroyed. Several questions at the same time you
cannot answer. People around you are asking questions you cannot answer. And
you cannot show them you do not know.

For
example, the youngsters I work with at the foundation: How can I tell them? We
were supposed to fly that day for a tour. Are we going to leave Mali? And my
son asking me, ‘What is a coup d’etat?’ And me trying to protect him. He’s say,
‘They killed this person. Why did they do that?’ And I’d say, ‘How did you know
that?’ You are the mother, the sister, the daughter, and you are the teacher of
many students you can no longer teach because you have stay inside your home.
You have to know when you can go out and get food. And if you leave, where do
you go? What about your parents, who are old? Will they stay in Mali? There are
so many things happening that you no longer know in what spirit you are. You do
not sleep, day and night, you try to find solutions.

After two
weeks of that you feel very bizarre. But we kept going on with all the projects
at the foundation. July arrived and I didn’t feel better because the problem was
still going on and the rest of the world was starting to tell about it, but
telling about it in the wrong way. When you hear their opinion of what’s going
on in your country you don’t even recognize your own country. I thought, well,
I can leave Mali and go somewhere else. I am not obliged to stay there. I can
provide my parents with all they need. Why do I still want to stay there and
make things? It came back to me in a beautiful way, in a way I never realized
before. I simply love Africa. And I wanted to write a song about that, just to
explain how a country in war can still be someone’s country.